


All He Sees Is Red

by GothicPrincessWitch



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst, Best Served Cold (Quest), Hurt/Comfort, M/M, PTSD, Purple Hawke, Red-Purple Hawke, a tiny bit of fluff at the end too, but mostly sweet sweet angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-20
Updated: 2017-02-20
Packaged: 2018-09-25 17:03:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9831836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GothicPrincessWitch/pseuds/GothicPrincessWitch
Summary: "I should not have let them take me. I let you down.""I swear I'll never let anything like this happen again!"In Best Served Cold, Fenris was captured, bound with blood magic, and used as a hostage to hurt Hawke. In the weeks following, Fenris is not dealing with what happened to him all that well. Hawke is handling it even worse.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [stitchcasual](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stitchcasual/gifts).



> I hope this is sufficiently painful for you. Enjoy! <3

The nightmares keep getting worse.  
  
It's been nearly three weeks since Fenris was captured and rescued, since he was bound and used like a weapon against Hawke, but the nightmares haven't stopped. Each night since Hawke carried his lover back to the estate, Fenris has woken up thrashing, glowing, screaming, and pleading in Tevene.  
  
And Hawke feels so helpless, so useless. Fenris terrified -- that was supposed to be gone with Danarius's death. It was supposed to be over. Fenris is supposed to be healing and moving on from a life of being hunted and afraid.  
  
Hawke tries to do what he can. On nights when Fenris allows his touch, Hawke holds him tightly, kisses his hair, and wishes over and over that he could take all this pain away. For the nights when Fenris can't bear to be touched, Hawke sits on the other side of the room, giving him space, and tries to distract him with stupid, pointless stories about Bethany and Carver when they were little and still alive, although these hurt in their own way.   
  
Fenris breathes heavily, his markings burning and his lovely green eyes wide and haunted and gleaming in the dark. Tonight he's curled up close in Garrett's arms, head pillowed against his chest, and Hawke presses his nose into Fenris's hair, inhaling that perfect scent of lyrium and the air after a lightning strike which is so utterly Fenris to him.  
  
"It's OK," Hawke murmurs in as soothing a tone as he can manage, his lips nuzzling against soft hair the color of moonlight. "You're safe. You're alright."  
  
Fenris doesn't answer. He only closes his eyes and presses his face into Hawke's chest.  
  
 _Blood magic._  
  
That damned mage Grace and her cohorts were all dead, but Hawke would slaughter them all over again if he could. An arrow through Grace's thoat was too good for her. He'd make her suffer this time, slowly. Whatever spell they'd used to bind Fenris, to keep him immobile and helpless while they put their hands on him and hurt him-- Hawke doesn't want to think about how similar it must be to what Fenris endured in Tevinter. He doesn't want to think about anything that's hurt Fenris like this. He just wants to take away every bit of fear and pain that Fenris has ever felt and replace it all with Fenris feeling loved and safe and cherished like he deserves.  
  
And Hawke wants to rend every person who's ever hurt Fenris limb from limb.  
  
"I love you," Hawke whispers for the hundredth time into silken strands of silver hair, though his eyes are cold and hard like two shards of golden metal. As if that makes a difference. As if it isn't his love that endangered Fenris in the first place.  
  
=====  
  
A few days later, Hawke finds that Fenris has rubbed his skin raw in the bath, trying to scrub off the lingering feeling of magic, of violation. Hawke places soft, gentle kisses over Fenris's lyrium-marked skin and massages elfroot balm tenderly over the reddened welts. All Hawke can do is try to comfort him, try to be there for him as best as he can, but it never feels like enough.   
  
There's a hole in Hawke's chest with torn, ragged edges, and it aches so much he can scarcely breathe every time he sees Fenris in pain.  
  
=====  
  
"You're certain that was all of them?" demands Hawke, leather- and steel-gauntleted hands clenched into fists. He glares at Knight-Captain Cullen, who meets his gaze unflinchingly. "You're certain there's not more of them out there, waiting to come after me and mine again?"  
  
"Everyone involved in the incident was summarily executed," replies Cullen. "If you fear another attack, Champion, then perhaps the City Guard can assign a few watchmen outside your estate. At the moment, with the rising chaos, I cannot spare any Templars."  
  
Hawke nods and thanks his friend, but it doesn't feel like enough to assuage the distress that consumes him whenever he catches a glimpse of that fear in Fenris's green eyes -- the fear that Hawke swore to himself he'd do anything to keep Fenris from.  
  
Fenris has had enough fear and suffering in his life.  
  
=====  
  
"Hawke, why are you bothering to take those filthy ripped trousers from that pile of rubble?" asks Sebastian. "Surely there are better clothing options."  
  
With a casual shrug, Hawke tucks the pair of torn trousers into his pack and says, "I'm planning to model them for Fenris tonight."  
  
"I can think of nothing more irresistible," Fenris deadpans in response.   
  
Grinning, Hawke opens his mouth to tease his boyfriend further, when out of the corner of his eye, he spies the glint of crimson magic against the metal of a mage's staff in the alleyway. He has just enough time to nock an arrow to the bow in his hand before the party is attacked.  
  
Crimson Weavers, Bloodragers, the Coterie, whatever -- Hawke doesn't give a fuck which gang is ambushing him this time. They're dead for this, every bloody one of them.  
  
To the side Hawke glimpses Fenris's lyrium igniting and Sebastian firing his own bow with a few witty quips. Sword sweeping in a wide arc, Fenris dashes into the melee, while Sebastian picks off the enemy archers, and Hawke targets the two mages. His arrows pinpoint their weak spots, trying to interrupt their casting, and Hawke focuses on them with a burning intensity as one mage pulls the blood from an injury and flings it into the air, red mist seeping toward the melee, toward Fenris, like tendrils reaching out to grab him, to hurt him.  
  
How fucking dare they.  
  
Hawke doesn't know what that spell is and doesn't care. He'll be damned if he allows blood magic to harm Fenris again! All Hawke sees is red as he draws a knife and stealths across the alley toward the mages. For the first one, he slits her throat abruptly, but for the second, the blood mage, Hawke takes his time carving into him, cutting into him again and again and again, while Fenris and Sebastian dispatch of the rest of the attackers.  
  
"Hawke!"  
  
All he sees is red. They tried to hurt Fenris. They tried to use blood magic on Fenris. How dare they! Death is too good for them. Tranquility is too good for them! Hawke keeps slicing with his blade until his wrist is seized by a gauntleted hand, and he whirls around to face-- Fenris, lyrium glow fading and green eyes wide with concern.  
  
"They're all dead, Hawke," says Fenris, relinquishing his grip on Hawke's wrist. Sebastian appears to be murmuring a prayer for the Maker to have mercy on their souls, and Hawke ignores him, unable to focus on anything but the fact that Fenris is there in front of him. Fenris is OK. He's unharmed. He's _safe!_  
  
Dropping the knife, Hawke pulls the elf into his arms, squeezing his tightly. He inhales a few deep breaths in an attempt to ground himself.  
  
"Are you going to tell me what's wrong, Garrett?" Fenris asks, his voice slightly muffled against Hawke's chest.  
  
"I can't--" Hawke can barely get the words out. "I can't see you get hurt again. Not again."  
  
Being so careful with his sharp, clawed gauntlet, Fenris gently rests a hand on the side of Hawke's face. "You and I lead dangerous lives," he responds. "You can't protect me from every threat, and as for the rest, well, that's my burden to bear, not yours."  
  
Hawke takes Fenris's hand and draws it to his lips, placing a kiss on the bare, lyrium-lined palm. "I'd take every burden of yours if I could," he says, and he means every word.  
  
"You do enough," replied Fenris tenderly, his eyes soft and sad and so entrancingly beautiful. "You've helped me more than I could say, but please, don't lose yourself to try to protect me. I need you."  
  
Hawke holds Fen close. "I'm sorry."  
  
"I mean it, Garrett. I can't bear to live without you."  
  
His lips curve into a charming smile, his usual mask to hide his own fear and pain and burdens. "I'm never dying, love," he says, in as light a tone as he can pull off. "I'm staying alive to annoy you forever. Lucky you."  
  
He can feel Fenris's huff of laughter and returning smile against his chest. His golden-brown eyes slip shut as he drinks in Fenris's presence (and continues to ignore Seb, who has wandered away a few yards to give them some privacy). Fenris needs time to recover, and Hawke can't do anything but offer him support. And that's just something he has to accept, as teeth-grittingly difficult as that is.  
  
"I love you," he whispers.  
  
"And I am yours," murmurs Fenris.  
  
They stay in each other's arms for as long as they need until they're comfortable enough to walk home hand in hand.


End file.
